


Unfed Hope

by MrsHamill



Series: Grandmother Raven: The Path of a Shaman [5]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, M/M, Pre-Slash, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-10
Updated: 2001-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which Blair is pissed, Jim is worried, and no one actually eats anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfed Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Begins in the middle of Sweet Science and ends at the end of the same episode. For those interested, the bird-watching room -- indeed, the entire CNARC -- is based on the utterly gorgeous Chippewa Nature Center in Midland, Michigan. Once again, blame Fox and Christi -- especially Fox in this case -- for any goodness that lies herein. Well, me, too, but mostly them.

          What we call despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.  
  
          -- George Eliot  
  


  
* * *  


Blair should have known better than to just drop in on the CNARC and hope to see Grandmother Raven, even at eight-thirty in the evening. She was in a meeting, but the receptionist smiled and told him it should be over soon. Blair told her where he'd be, then went down the hall to the bird-watching room to wait. A few minutes later he heard voices in the hallway; then the dim room was invaded with her presence.

"Hello, pup," she growled low, giving him a hug. "I missed you last night."

"Well, that's kind of why I'm here," he replied, his voice equally soft. They sat on chairs and looked out through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the room, where they could see birds of all kinds doing their evening feeding at the dimly-lit birdfeeders. The outside microphones picked up their twittering and brought it into the room. It was too cold for chipmunks, but a few hardy squirrels darted in and out, picking up the leftovers. "Remember what I told you when I called to cancel the other day?"

"Yes, you were going to see a friend of yours fight." Grandmother's face fell. "Oh, dear. It was that boxer, wasn't it. The one I read about in the paper." It wasn't really a question, and Blair found he could not face her.

"Yeah," he said, staring out the windows. "Roy Williams. One of my oldest friends. Guess who's working the case."

Grandmother Raven frowned. "I would think that would be against the rules," she said, "what with you being personally involved."

"Ah, but I'm not a cop," he replied, bitterly. Standing, he walked to the window and leaned his hot forehead on the cool glass. The sparrows and other wintering birds startled, but soon settled down when he didn't move again.

"Blair?" she said softly.

"I'm just so frustrated, you know?" he whispered. "Simon tells me, 'You're not a cop, Sandburg' and he's right, goddammit, but that's no reason why they shouldn't _listen_ to me!"

"Tell me what's happening, boy," Grandmother said, in the same gentle tone. "Perhaps getting it off your chest will help."

Blair debated. He knew that to reveal elements of an ongoing investigation was not only unethical, but could be downright illegal. But this was _Grandmother_ here. She knew about Jim, for pity's sake. He swallowed, but didn't turn. "Jim and I found blood in the trunk of Jamie's car. When Jim got home tonight, he told me that Forensics confirmed it was Roy's blood."

"Jamie?"

"Roy's brother," Blair clarified. "He didn't do it, Grandmother. He didn't -- I know he didn't. But I can't get them to _believe_ me... Jim tells me to chill, Simon all but tossed me out of his office -- damn."

As Blair stood there, face to the glass, he realized he could not hear Grandmother behind him. She was sitting so still, so quietly, it was almost as if he were alone in the room. He wondered, briefly, how Jim perceived her. "Correct me if I'm wrong," she finally said, her voice still soft, gentle and soothing, "but I believe a policeman who knew the victim of a murder would not be allowed to work on the case. I realize you're not a policeman, but still, why are they letting you become involved? It can only hurt you."

Blair closed his eyes in pain. He knew why. He knew all too well why. "Because I make a pest of myself," he whispered. "I try, Grandmother, I really do. I want to help as much as I can, to make myself actually useful, to not be just a tag-along. But deep down... that's all I really am. A tag-along."

"I find that difficult to believe, Blair," she said. "I also find it hard to believe that Jim would allow you to 'tag along' if you weren't contributing. I mean, you told me that you'd even gone undercover that time. Surely they wouldn't have let you do that if they thought you were incompetent."

"The only reason they let me go undercover at Conover," Blair said wearily, "was because they wanted to shut me up. Simon got tired of arguing with me. And a fat lot of good I did them there too... I was so scared most of the time that I should have brought dry britches with me and nothing else."

Blair heard her frustrated sigh behind him. "So you do nothing, you contribute nothing, you just -- what, sit around and look pretty? What do you do, Blair?"

"I help Jim with his senses." Blair said it flatly, but didn't turn.

"You help Jim with his senses," she echoed. "And that's it."

"Well, I also type about eighty percent of his paperwork," Blair said, despite himself beginning to see where she was going.

"And because you're a lightning typist, they let you stay. It doesn't wash, Blair."

Blair turned, put his back to the birds and crossed his arms. "Grandmother..." he began, but she cut him off.

"No, Blair. I'm telling you right now it doesn't wash, and it doesn't." Her voice was firm, and Blair knew better than to interrupt her in this mood. "I can think of a dozen times since you walked back into my life six months ago where you told me of a contribution you made to the police. Didn't you tell me you've even got your own mailbox now? They don't do that to helpless, useless little tag-alongs, Blair."

"Well then why aren't they listening now?" Blair burst out. Behind him, he heard all the birds take wing. "I _know_ Jamie is innocent. They're going after the totally wrong dude!"

"They're not listening to you for a very good reason," she replied tartly. "Because you're biased. Because if you were a real cop, you wouldn't even be _on_ the case. Tell me I'm wrong," she finished, giving him a glare. "Tell me, Blair. Am I wrong?"

Blair ground his teeth, looking anywhere but at her. "Dammit," he muttered. "I hate it when you're logical." The whiteboard in the corner of the room had a list of all birds seen recently, and he stared at that. Who knew Stellar's jays stayed in the Puget Sound area all winter?

"You told me a few weeks ago, when Captain Banks was shot and that substitute tried to pull your credentials, that Jim fought her. He just bulled past her and managed to keep you on." Blair was resolutely not looking at her, but from the corner of his eye he could tell she was staring at him. "And he did this... why? Because he needs you? Does he need you every day to help him with his senses? You told me he hasn't done that zone-thing in weeks. Does he need you with him every damn day solely for that reason, Blair?"

She was clearly waiting for an answer, but Blair couldn't give her one. No, Jim didn't need him every damn day for his senses. He _hadn't_ zoned -- in months, actually.

And he treated Blair like his official partner -- even if Simon didn't. This wasn't Jim's fault.

"I'm waiting, young pup," Grandmother said, her voice stern. "If you are to be my student, then you need to begin thinking more clearly. Why does Jim want you with him at his work? For he obviously does."

"I -- I don't know," Blair whispered, looking down at his toes.

"Then I think you ought to ask him!" she said, clearly exasperated. "He cares for you, Blair. He's shown it in a hundred different ways. You're his best friend, and you've been of invaluable service to him."

Jim cared? Of course, Jim cared -- he knew that. But maybe... "It would be different if I were a cop -- his official partner," Blair muttered, then paused, stunned. Where had _that_ thought come from?

"Is that what you want?" Grandmother's voice was curious, not critical. "You've changed a lot, Blair, and I've rarely seen you so involved, so openly willing to join the dance. You've always been the observer, the one who stood by and watched -- even when you mixed in, everyone still knew you were holding part of yourself back, keeping yourself from interfering. But you're not like that any more. Would you be happier, would it suit this new, participatory Blair if you actually _were_ a cop -- instead of just studying one?"

Get off the merry-go-round permanently? Good God -- is that -- could that be what he wanted? "I -- don't know," he said, his voice shaking in surprise and astonishment -- not to mention a little fear. "All my life, I've wanted that Ph.D. I've chased the anthropology holy grail... and when I found it, well what do you know? It changed me." Blair turned back around and stared out at the now-empty birdfeeders. "It changed me. I was afraid of going native... but I did. I was afraid to use a gun... but I did. I was afraid I was..."

Blair trailed off, trying to envision himself giving it all up, all the lauds, the doctorate, the academic fame -- could he really chuck it all and just... just be a cop? Did he want to? Would he even be wanted there? He knew -- he _knew_ that his dissertation as it stood was, at the very least, compromised, if not completely useless. He had only one Sentinel in his study -- that was not only not a statistical universe, it was barely an aberration. He hadn't lied when he told Jim he had enough data for ten papers, but it wasn't _good_ data, publishable data. He might be able to defend, if he could finish, but his stand was weak. Very weak. Before his thoughts went further, Grandmother broke into them.

"And you're afraid of becoming a shaman," Grandmother said, completing his earlier thought. "But you are. Your spirit guide follows you like a shadow, only waiting for you to turn and acknowledge it."

"I know," Blair said, tracing a pattern on the glass in the fog from his breath. "Sometimes, when I can meditate, I can almost see it. But then, it could be the jaguar. Sometimes, I think I can almost see it too."

They were silent for a long time, each lost in thought, so quiet that eventually the birds came back to feed. "I think," Grandmother said finally, "that this spring, we need to do a little cleansing. Perhaps we should go up into the mountains to a sweat lodge I know of."

"I guess." Blair wasn't too thrilled with the idea, but it was probably a good one. Perhaps it would help him clear his head. Maybe then he'd be able to meditate, to say goodbye to his friend, decide what the hell he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

"Blair," Grandmother said, and he braced himself. She was using 'that tone' again. "Do you, or do you not want to be my student? It's well past time for you to make that commitment."

Fish or cut bait time, huh? Okay, he could do that, at least, and besides, he had already made up his mind. "Yes." He turned and faced her, and was surprised by the compassion on her face. "But before I can do anything, I need to clear my head. Try to get a handle on my anger -- God! I'm still so pissed off."

He moved toward the door to the room, but was caught by her hand on his arm. "Where are you going?" she asked him gently.

He gave her the most genuine smile he could conjure up, painfully aware that it was probably pretty bad. "Out," he said. "I've got some pocket change, I'll just wander around a bit. There's a new place in Chinatown I've been meaning to visit." At her anxious face, he patted her hand. "I'll be careful. I've... I've just got a lot of stuff to process. Intellectually, I know this is not Jim's fault... and I don't want to be around him in case I try to take it out on him."

"Be careful," she said, then released his arm. Blair nodded shortly and walked out of the room.

* * *

  
Not for the first time, Jim found himself worrying about Blair. The man had run from the loft as if all the demons of hell were after him, had obviously been having trouble meditating, and wouldn't even take Jim up on the offer of dinner. It was now almost ten and there was still no word from Blair, and Jim was beginning to debate going out and looking for him.  
  
Before he could decide, the phone rang. Snatching it up, he almost shouted, "Sandburg?"  
  
"No, Enqueri, it's me," said a familiar voice.  
  
"Oh, Vi, hello, I'm sorry, I was..."  
  
"You were expecting Blair to call -- I figured as much. He just left here," she said. Her voice sounded tired. "We had a long talk, but he's so very... angry. Jim, I'm worried about him."  
  
"I am too," Jim replied, rubbing his eyes. "He tell you about what's been happening?"  
  
"Yes. He's taking Roy's death very hard," Grandmother said sadly. "Jim, can you tell me something?"  
  
"Of course, Grandmother," Jim replied, plopping himself back on the sofa. Where could Blair be?  
  
"How much police work does Blair do with you? I realize he's classified as a civilian observer, but just what does that mean?"  
  
"We had to give him a title when he came on board to help with my senses," Jim explained. "Once Simon found out about the Sentinel thing, he agreed that Sandburg was necessary to me. His pass officially expired over a year ago, but I need him... we need him. He's helped in so many ways."  
  
"Not just with your senses, then," she asked.  
  
"No, not just with my senses," Jim agreed. "He's a veritable fount of information, a damn walking encyclopaedia. What he doesn't know, well, it's probably not worth knowing. I don't know how many times it's been that knowledge that's been the break in a case."  
  
"He feels..." she started quietly, then paused and obviously changed tacks. "You need to talk to him, to help him determine his path. Not only with the shamanism, but with his police work as well."  
  
Jim heard the unspoken words, what she wasn't telling him. Blair felt uncertain of his place in the PD. He scrubbed his face with his hand. "This case has gotten him so riled, so turned around. I wish I'd never been called to be primary on it. I would rather have excluded him from it than put him through this crap."  
  
"The horse has left the barn, Enqueri," she said; "it's no use locking the door now. Somehow, you need to let Blair know that he's important to you, and not only at the station; that's what part of this is all about."  
  
"I'll find a way," Jim sighed. "I won't let him slip away on this, Vi. I won't."  
  
"Good," she said. "I'll let you go now, in case he tries to call you."  
  
"Good night then," he said, hearing her repeat it. Jim put the phone back on the charger, picked up the remote and turned on the TV. Clutching one of the throw pillows to his chest, he stretched out on the sofa, intending to wait up for Blair -- for however long it took.  
  


* * *

  
Jim could tell the next day that Blair had a better handle on his temper. But it was a tenuous hold, and it finally broke the next evening, in Simon's office. Jim had just finished giving his report to Simon, and it looked bad for Jamie. "And why the hell doesn't anybody listen to me?!" Blair yelled, throwing up his hands in disgust and frustration.  
  
Jim and Simon looked at each other, but didn't reply. Jim turned and opened the door to leave, with Blair following, but Simon stopped them. "Sandburg! You stay," he barked. "Shut the door."  
  
As Blair shut the door and moved to stand in front of Simon's desk, Jim went back to his own desk, shamelessly eavesdropping. "What the hell is going on with you?" he heard Simon growl, and winced. "I understand that Roy was your friend, but you've been around long enough to know that police work is objective, not personal."  
  
"Simon, I work my ass off for you," Blair said heatedly, "and I think I have helped you put together a pretty good string of heavy convictions here. And if you ask me, I think I've conducted myself the same as, if not better than, than any rookie out there." Jim nodded; good. The kid was standing up for himself, but keeping his temper in check.  
  
"Is that what's going on here?" Simon asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. "Nobody denies your contribution."  
  
"How come the only thing I hear is 'Hey, Sandburg, get out of the way. Hey, Sandburg, you're not a cop.'"  
  
"Because you aren't a cop," Simon answered, and Jim winced again. "But that doesn't take away from your contribution."  
  
Blair's heart rate spiked, and Jim could hear his raspy breathing. 'Then why the hell don't you ever say it?" he ground out.  
  
Simon was maintaining his cool, for which Jim was grateful. "Because I run a police department here, not some damn encounter group."  
  
There was silence in the office for a moment, then Blair's quiet, abashed reply. "Good answer."  
  
"Sandburg." Jim heard Simon move around his desk. "Look, I don't know what demons you have dancing in your head, but let's clear up my end. If for any reason I have given you the impression that I do not appreciate and value the contribution that you give to this department...I apologize."  
  
Blair sounded as shocked as Jim was to hear that. "You mean that?"  
  
"Yeah, Blair, I do."  
  
"Well, thank you. Uh...that means a lot to me."  
  
"We okay?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, we're good."  
  
"All right. Go on. Get out of here. He needs you."  
  
Jim pulled back from eavesdropping to hear his phone ring -- he quickly grabbed it as Blair left Simon's office. While he talked to Rafe, he thought about the conversation he had heard, thinking that it had gone very well... and he hadn't even needed to talk to Simon before-hand. Hopefully, that would give Sandburg enough of a shot in the arm for him to be able to tackle the rest of it.  
  
And Blair looked better -- well, at least more thoughtful and less irritated -- as he joined Jim in heading out to find Jamie Williams.  
  
In the truck on the way to meet Rafe, Jim kept shooting Blair little glances, but Blair didn't seem inclined to look at him. "Is, um, everything..." Jim asked, tentatively.  
  
Blair continued to look out the window, but Jim could see the beginning of a smile on his face. "Yeah, Jim. Everything's good. I take it you eavesdropped."  
  
"Well..."  
  
"It's okay, I don't mind," Blair said, then turned to look at him. "Did you put him up to that?"  
  
"No!" Jim said quickly. "I was planning on talking to him about it, but I didn't get the chance. It came as much out of the blue to me as it was to you."  
  
In the glances Jim could turn on Blair, in between watching the road, he could tell Blair's face was thoughtful. "Sometimes I wish I had your senses, man," Blair finally said, turning his face back to the passenger window. "But I believe you."  
  
"He said it because he meant it, Blair," Jim said, blinking as he caught Blair whipping his head around to look at him. "You're a part of the unit. Hell, we wouldn't be giving you such a hard time all the time if you weren't."  
  
"You really feel like that?" Blair asked, his voice almost wondrous. "You're not just saying that?"  
  
"Why do you keep asking me that, Chief?" Jim asked, truly confused. "Why would I just say it? You heard Simon. You make a contribution. You do so damn much around the station it's not even funny. And let me tell you, you're a better cop than a lot of cops I know."  
  
Blair's mouth was hanging open, and he clearly wanted to talk more, but there wasn't time. They had arrived.  
  


* * *

  
A day later, Blair looked up from Jim's desk as the other man left Simon's office. "Things will be all right for Jamie," Jim said, snagging both their jackets, tossing Blair his. "Simon bargained for probation."  
  
Letting out a sigh of relief, Blair put his coat on and followed Jim to the elevator. "See, you guys should have listened to me. I was right."  
  
"That's not entirely true, Chief," Jim disagreed, punching the button for the elevator.  
  
"What are you talking about? He wasn't guilty," Blair said.  
  
"What about the counterfeiting?"  
  
Blair gave Jim an exasperated look. "All right. Fine. So, we were both wrong."  
  
Jim just grinned back. "So, where does that leave us?" he asked, as the elevator doors opened.  
  
"That leaves us with you buying me dinner," Blair said, waving his partner into the elevator.  
  
"Oh, really. How do you figure?"  
  
"What do you mean, how do I figure?" Blair asked, following Jim. "You said you'd buy me dinner."  
  
"No, I didn't," Jim, replied, stabbing the button for the parking garage.  
  
"What's the matter with your memory? Yeah. You did."  
  
"No, I didn't."  
  
As the elevator doors closed, Blair reared back with a right hook. "This one's for Roy," he said, lobbing the punch in the general vicinity of Jim's chin. Jim laughed and easily caught the fist, using it to yank Blair into his side.  
  
"All right, Muhammad, I'll buy you dinner," he said, hugging Blair tightly. "I'm glad Jamie's going to be all right," he murmured into Blair's hair.  
  
Blair wrapped his arms around Jim's middle and squeezed back. Damn, but the man felt good. "Thanks, man," he murmured, unwilling to let go for some reason. "I'm sorry I was such a pissant about the whole thing."  
  
"We all have our breaking points, Chief," Jim replied gently, and what was that? A nuzzle? Was Jim nuzzling his hair? Oh...  
  
The elevator dinged, announcing their arrival at the parking garage level. Blair reluctantly let go, and was pleased to note that Jim seemed equally unwilling. They looked at each other for a moment, and Blair tried to figure out what the strange expression on Jim's face meant. But the doors beginning to close brought them out of their reverie. Jim hit the 'door open' button, they shook themselves and exited, heading for the truck.  
  
"So, where are we going for dinner, Champ?" Jim asked, his voice sounding oddly husky.  
  
Blair had to swallow a couple of times before he could speak. "Oh, I dunno, how about Chez Adelaide?" he finally asked, thinking about the most expensive restaurant in Cascade while climbing into the truck.  
  
Jim gave him a fond smile as they buckled in. "In your dreams, Chief, in your dreams," he said.

end


End file.
